


Christmas Rhapsody

by CaptainSlow



Series: Winter Phapsody in five parts [1]
Category: Bohemian Rhapsody (Movie 2018) RPF
Genre: Fluffflufffluff, I'm Sorry, Idiots in Love, M/M, and the idea is totally hackneyed but what the hell, but not really, they asked for it I swear
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-15
Updated: 2018-12-15
Packaged: 2019-09-19 17:44:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 7,346
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17006238
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CaptainSlow/pseuds/CaptainSlow
Summary: "This joke's getting old, you know?""Who says it's a joke?" Joe's eyes widen in fake surprise. "You're hurting my feelings, mate!"And you're hurting mine, you troll, Ben thinks to himself in frustration but doesn't say so out loud.





	1. Chapter 1

_Can anybody find me somebody to love?_

_Ooh, each morning I get up I die a little_  
_Can barely stand on my feet_  
_(Take a look at yourself) Take a look in the mirror and cry (and cry)_  
_Lord, what you're doing to me. *©_

*

It starts at Christmas, like in some old fairy tale, or rather, just a short while before it when it turns out that almost every one of their entire little band is going to be in London at around the same time. Gwil lives there, Rami and Lucy are coming for the festivities, Ben is visiting his family for the Christmas break. The only one missing seems to be Mr Mazzello, which Ben is desperate to remedy, and before anyone else beats him to it, he calls Joe and invites him to join the party. Just to stay on the safe side and safeguard against Joe's possible excuse that he couldn't leave his mother all alone at Christmas, Ben suggests that he brings her along and they make it a family celebration.

Joe accepts it gladly enough, seemingly thrilled by the prospects of catching up with everyone, and promises Ben one hell of a present. His sheer enthusiasm is a little bit unsettling – bearing in mind Joe's love of pranks and jokes which have no limits whatsoever, Ben doesn't know whether to look forward to or dread it.

As it turns out, sticking to his reputation of being an accomplished troll, Joe has dragged him that blasted cardboard cutout the entire Bohemian Rhapsody fan base is losing their shit about. It's decorated with all kinds of stickers, postcards from Japan, some acidly coloured candy wraps with hieroglyphs, and messages from everyone who took part in that promotional tour Ben had to miss.

"What the hell is this?" he asks when Joe extracts the monstrosity out of his suitcase, for the life of him unable to suppress an utterly stupid grin.

"Your postcard from Japan," Joe smirks, stuffing the cardboard Ben into his hands. It's exactly his height. "Since you missed all the fun and _this_ was your official representative out there, you are entitled to have him as a memory."

"Won't it be too hard on you, huh?" Ben laughs. "I've heard you've grown rather fond of each other?"

A crooked smirk appears on Joe's lips, and Ben knows it, knows it oh so well. It's a tell-tale signal of Joe Mazzello's sense of humour coming for your ass. And here it comes, of course.

"Well, I have you both now, right here," he deadpans and gives him a wink.

In response to that, Ben rolls his eyes, demonstratively enough to show what exactly he thinks of it all. He aims for exasperation but, unbeknownst to himself, ends up looking more wistful rather than anything else.

"This joke's getting old, you know?"

"Who says it's a joke?" Joe's eyes widen in fake surprise. "You're hurting my feeling, mate!"

 _And you're hurting mine, you troll_ , Ben thinks to himself in frustration but doesn't say so out loud.

*

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> * Somebody To Love by Queen


	2. Chapter 2

_There's so much left unspoken_  
_And all I can do is surrender_  
_To the moment, just surrender. *©_

*

The monotonous droning of the TV in the background serves as a perfect lullaby, especially when its volume is turned almost completely down and complemented by the constant dull howling of the wind audible even despite the double-glazing windows in the room. As if by some stroke of magic, it makes the bed seem comfier and the duvet puffier and the pillow beneath his cheek softer, just like it used to feel in back childhood. Balancing somewhere on the smudged line that separates sleep from wakefulness, Ben wonders just how extraordinary some utterly mundane things can be if the atmosphere is suitable enough.

He can feel the fresh smell of the clean linens and the pleasant touch of the fabric against his skin; he can hear those distant gales of wind and the sound it makes rushing past the branches of the tree growing outside. The fact that, for some unfathomable reason, it's always much easier to fall asleep in someone else's bed rather than in your own makes the entire experience even more sensational. If he strains his ears enough and abstracts from the hum of the TV, he can detect Joe's breathing, too, soft and even; reassuring in its regular quality.

Ben should have left long ago, should have gone to his own room and fallen asleep in his own bed, but since he and Joe have been out and about all day, having given in to the Christmas hustle and bustle, he's feeling so knackered he doesn't feel like moving his little finger, let alone getting up and dragging himself anywhere at all. The pleasant exhaustion pins him to the soft mattress and the duvet he's wrapped in deprives him of any desire to leave.

And then there's another thing, a bigger thing, a more compulsive motive behind it all, one which is much easier to turn a blind eye to rather than acknowledge, and its name is Joe Mazzello.

This thing – _called love_ , his traitorous mind doesn't miss an opportunity to mock him in Freddie Mercury's voice – has been going on for quite a while now. He and Joe have known each other for one and a half years, and over the most part of that stretch of time there's been something elusive between the two of them. Some people say it is chemistry, and it is there all right, it has to be; others call it true friendship, and of course it is; there's genuine affection and mutual respect and understanding, but there's nothing particularly odd about either of those feelings. Yet with Joe it's always been something else, too, something subtly different.

Ben's given it enough thought in an attempt to define it, and what it all comes down to in the end is frighteningly simple. There's their friendship, heartfelt and amiable. And then there's a desire of a purely physical nature, some irresistible gravitation between the two of them. And when you put two and two together, it's not that tricky to get an answer to what exactly has been going on.

He's in love.

To say that it scares him is the underestimation of the century. Ben's utterly terrified – by the intensity of the feeling, by the uncertainty it induces, by the fact that it's even there in the first place, by what it implies for the two of them. He's long stopped questioning what exactly it is that he's feeling towards Joe, but he's still lost as to how or why it began. Was it indeed because of some sort of chemistry, a purely biological explanation? Or did they bring it about themselves making all those bromance jokes, both privately and publicly; jokes which started as a little prank and then spiralled out of control?

For some reason, neither of them has brought them up since Joe arrived, with the exception of the latter's cryptic remark upon presenting him the Cardboard Ben. They've talked about work, and films, and holidays, and childhoods, and Queen, and Christmas presents, and their plans for the next year, and the mutual acquaintances, but not a single time has that ambiguous topic of whatever it is that might be going on between the two of them ever been mentioned. Which is both a huge relief – because it would have certainly flustered Ben now that he knows that there's more to it than just a joke – and a sort of disappointment, surprisingly profound at that. It seems he doesn't want this joke to be over. As a matter of fact, he doesn't want it to be a joke anymore, and that's what's most terrifying.

And this is why Ben's allowed himself to nick Joe's duvet, wrap himself into it, insolently curl on one half of the bed and nearly drift off to sleep. _Nearly_. It feels way too good to doze off just yet. And way too scary, too. Cautiously, Ben pries one eye open to check what's going on. There doesn't seem to be much – Joe's still sat leisurely leaning against the headrest of the bed, eyes trained on the TV screen. His profile is sharply defined, dark against the pastel-coloured curtain in the background, and incredibly handsome. Ben closes his eye shut again, feeling his heart lurch curiously in his chest, sending those tell-tale reverberations down to his stomach and even further south.

It is almost funny how in this entire clusterfuck of a situation what amazes Ben the most is his choice. Not in terms of fancying a guy – that's strange and he can't quite explain how it happened given the fact that he never before felt the appeal to men, but still, desire is just desire. The sexual aspect of it can be relatively easily comprehended – it's driven by all those fancy chemicals his brain produces. His choice of one particular male is what takes him aback. Of all the guys he knows, for some inexplicable reason he had to fall for the most obnoxious and sarcastic of them.

It doesn't imply anything bad about Joe, not at all. He is a great human being, a wonderful friend, a hilarious guy to be around with who'd make sure there's never a dull moment. He's kind, too, and intelligent, and he's a consummate professional, and Ben respects and genuinely admires him. Yet he's also that sort of bloke who tends to turn so much into a joke that at the end of the day it's hard to tell what is a joke and what is not. Deciphering his true feelings, the ones he may not want to show or share, is a task nigh on impossible. He'd drive you insane with his witticisms and then ridicule you for good measure but not admit anything he doesn't want to admit.

And that's the kind of man Ben has had a misfortune – or is it some good fortune, after all? – to fall for. Take that blasted bromance thing they created while filming. It started as a joke, Joe's joke, to be precise, and others simply played along. Hell, Ben did play along, too, finding the entire prank funny and enjoyable. He, in fact, helped to propel it forward. The problem is, though, he didn't and still doesn't understand if it is but a joke on Joe's part or whether there is after all something which incited him into coming up with it in the first place. With that smartass New-Yorker, it could swing both ways, and there's really no chance to tell what is truth and what is fiction. To add insult to injury, apart from being an accomplished troll, Joe's also a great actor, so there's apparently no chance of finding out what exactly he thinks of it all unless he decides to reveal it himself.

It's hard to say at which point Ben drifts off to sleep, lulled by the muffled noises coming from the world outside and the recurring cycle of his thoughts. He's brought back to consciousness by the sound of his own name being whispered somewhere very close to his ear, and it takes him quite a while to realise where he is and what on earth is going on.

"Ben?" That persistent murmur again, and, apart from it, there's only the faint howling of wind amongst the branches outside. "Benny?"

Ben's eyelids twitch impulsively but he keeps them closed on purpose, pretending he's still totally out of it. At the same time, it's hard to contain a shiver that runs down his spine at being addressed that way. Granted, it's not all that unusual for him to be called Benny, and Joe himself has used this pet name more than once. Yet here, in these circumstances, hearing Joe whisper it, so very close and so very quietly, gives it a whole new taste. Somehow, it's both exhilarating and utterly unnerving.

Right now, Ben wouldn't want to leave merely for the reason that he's more asleep than awake and all too cosily snuggled up into the blanket to be kicked out of here and have to relocate to his own room. Apart from that, he's dying of curiosity as to what actions Joe will take when he realises that he isn't going to get the entire bed all for himself that easily. That said, though, bearing in mind just how scared he is of the prospects of what might take place next, Ben would still have bolted out of here all by his own accord long ago. Yet somehow, the entire situation still seems more like a dream than reality, a kind of innocent fantasy which is unfurling strictly within the frames of his consciousness and has no chance of affecting his real life in the slightest of ways. He's not quite sure it's not a dream.

So Ben remains as he is, eyes closed, heart not quite hammering in his chest but definitely on its way to starting to do so, half-believing it's just some mulled wine induced delusion, as he clutches on to the duvet for dear life.

In the world outside, Joe lets out a soft sigh, and then the mattress shifts, making Ben momentarily experience a surge of genuine disappointment as he's sure the other man's about to give up and leave in search of another, more suitable, surface for sleeping, one which doesn't involve any arrogant blanket thieves. The feeling is so profound that Ben's on the verge of opening his eyes and reaching out after Joe on a tangent, but, thankfully, he is spared the necessity. The next moment he feels the mattress shift again, a bit more evenly over the entire length of the bed, and then careful hands start to pry the duvet ever so cautiously out of his supposedly sleepy grasp. As of now, Ben is not sure anymore whether to laugh or cry, or perhaps scream in utter terror, so he settles in for surrendering the duvet and doing his best to keep up the appearance of being fast asleep.

Luckily for him, or maybe for Joe, or perhaps for everyone, the latter manages to accomplish the mission without much hassle, and then settles down alongside him and snuggles the duvet back in place, now around them both. For a while, all Ben can do is concentrate solely on his breathing to prevent a fit of anxiety-induced asphyxia, wishing to open his eyes to assess just what exactly is going on outside but not daring to do so. Not a single limb of Joe's actually touches him but, judging by the feeling of it, he's but inches away, which is of course a reasonable enough estimation given the width of the blanket they are now apparently covered with. Besides, Ben can detect the heat of the other's body against his own skin and, more sensationally, feel the ever so soft puffs of warm breaths on his own face.

It's not the first time they've ever been trapped underneath one blanket or fallen asleep next to each other – that photo shoot with Freddie's king cape was the first but during the filming, with the workload they had, they did a couple of times doze off next to each other, sharing a sofa, or a bunk, or, at worst, a mat. Yet this is the first time they've ever been so close and intimate with that few clothes on and no one else in the vicinity, and it is taking its toll on Ben.

Back in drama school, they had an entire class devoted to relaxation techniques as they learnt to deal with anxiety provoked by performing in front of an audience, but none of those are working at the moment. With his eyes still closed – screwed tight, in fact – Ben's doing his best to steady his breathing: one in, one out, slowly; when that fails, he imagines that bloody white ball travelling up and down in front of him in unison with his breaths, nice and smooth; then he attempts to recall some recent state of peacefulness and tranquillity and relive it now thus calming his nerves a little. All of it is in vain. Quite the opposite, it seems that the more he tries to distract, the more challenging it gets, and, ridiculously, he starts to get even more wound up.

Now that they're so mind-bogglingly close and cocooned into the duvet, Ben can detect the smells too, either his shower gel or shampoo mixing with that of clean skin; a warm scent, and its warmth makes him dizzy. It's the smell of intimacy, one which signifies that a line has been crossed that turns a close relationship into an intimate one. All in all, it's not unfamiliar, of course, but this familiarity is what is frightening – Ben's been there before and he knows where this path leads. The totally novel tinge to it, a more bitter, more masculine one, makes this familiarity even more terrifying.

He can hear Joe's breathing, too, so awfully close. It's not an alien thing at all, either, but once again, it's what associates with physical intimacy, and this association does things to Ben's system, strange things, wonderful things, dreadful things. In combination with those warm puffs of air that brush against his lips and nose, it creates an atmosphere of ultimate trust, many times more profound than what they normally have. Ben understands it might be just an illusion induced by the mixture of the present environment and whatever chemicals his body decides to release into his bloodstream, but such understanding does nothing in terms of preventing him from wanting to immerse into this feeling, give in to it and finally be given the so much craved for consolation in return.

And then there's also this heat, the heat of another living breathing human being just a few inches away, and it's disarming, making all his attempts at relaxing go down the drain. Apparently, those relaxation tips from drama school were created to deal with actor's anxiety but not with the one invoked by all those hormones which are responsible for affection, attachment and sexual desire.

It's hard to say how long he spends in this state of terror-laced yearning – it might be ten minutes or an hour – time has lost its familiarity by now. Ben would have run, perhaps, considering just how panicked he is all of a sudden, but he's long past running anywhere. He's afraid that if he moves a single limb of his body, he'll end up all over Joe, and that he's not ready to deal with it. Not now. Probably, he'll never be. Just what on earth made him think that this was a good idea? What on earth made him think that ending up in one bed with Joe, under one duvet and with no one else around, given all those confusing feelings he has and that much ambiguity they created with their own hands, was a wise plan?

Yet that's Ben's common sense speaking, and it's far from being the loudest voice inside his head. The other one is not a voice at all, it's just one raw emotion, a compulsive desire to make one little movement and settle all the confusion once and for all, turn this confusion into a certainty, but--

 

"Ben?"

Joe's voice cuts through his panic like a thunderbolt even though it's no louder than a murmur. It paralyses Ben on the spot, so much so that for a while he can barely drag in a breath at all. A second later he realises he's been chewing on his lower lip so fiercely that it actually stings – so much for pretending to be asleep. In a matter of only a few seconds a whole kaleidoscope of possible reactions flashes through his mind – beat it, or keep on pretend to be sleeping, or say something, or stay silent, or just bloody kiss him already – but there are way too many of them and they leave him in an even greater state of confusion than before.

Eventually, Ben settles in for an incoherent _'Mhm?'_

The sound comes out shaky, courtesy of his traitorous heart hammering heavily somewhere in the region of his throat. In all honesty, he would be hard pressed to remember whether he has ever felt this utterly, mind-numbingly terrified before. First time asking a girl on a date? Phew, that was a piece of cake compared to this. Losing his virginity? Nowhere near. Being filmed butt-naked? That was just a tiny nuisance compared to _this_.

 _This_ has obviously gone too far and certainly out of control. Out of _his_ control, anyway, if he ever was in control of it in the first place. He doesn't quite understand his own desires, and the fact that Joe is as unreadable as ever only makes matters worse. Is he joking? Is he serious? Is there even something going on at all or is he – _has he been_ – imagining things for quite some time? It's disconcerting how little he understands. He's scared he's wrong about his own feelings. He's scared he's wrong about assuming, even cautiously, that Joe might feel something similar. He's scared of pushing it forward, scared of making himself look like an utter idiot, scared of Joe's reaction, scared of spoiling everything, scared of losing a friend. And then even if he's right about what he feels and if Joe coincidentally feels the same, Ben's terrified of what they'll do about it. They'll have to do something, won't they, if he comes out of his comfy closet of denial?

Infuriatingly, Joe remains silent. He doesn't move, doesn't leave, doesn't ask Ben to move or leave or explain what's going on, and it's even worse. This way, it's apparently up to Ben to do something, so after a while of this excruciating, unnerving quietness he finally pulls himself together and opens his eyes. He does it not because he knows what he's going to do next but simply because he feels as if he's trapped in the corner like some terrified animal, caught in the headlights of a heavy truck rushing right at him, and he's got nowhere to run to anymore. He could stubbornly pretend to be sleeping, of course, but he knows that Joe knows he's awake and it won't work that way. If he does nothing now, there will always be this blasted ambiguity between the two of them, and Ben can't bear it anymore.

So he opens his eyes at last, and the first thing which strikes him is just how close they are – there really are mere inches between their faces. They've been this close before, of course, it'd be a challenge not to since they're friends, but they haven't been this close in the darkness of Ben's own house lying nose to nose in one bed and sharing a duvet, both of them not quite what you'd call dressed. Joe's looking at him, his eyes reflecting the yellowish light from the Christmas candles on the windowsill, a couple of dim sparks in the blackness that pools in his sockets. The features of his face look chiselled in stone and thus seem even more unreadable.

It makes him damn handsome, too. It makes Ben want him more desperately than he thought was possible. It makes him utterly, speechlessly terrified.

Somewhere at the very back of his consciousness, where his common sense and sound judgement still dwell, Ben understands what a sight he must make right now. Unlike the way it is with Joe, who's a damn brilliant actor especially when it comes to real life and whose face expresses precisely what he wants it to express, Ben's true emotions are normally obvious to everyone around. It's utterly absurd how while acting he can do whatever he wishes with his face, but as far as his real feelings are concerned, he can't hide a damn thing from anyone. His mum once told him it was his eyes, big and expressive, and now Ben's wondering, almost semi-catatonic, whether Joe is able to see his eyes in this darkness, and if he does, whether he's able to read them as easily, too. He wonders whether Joe can detect even a small part of his confusion and panic, or of his desperate longing, for that matter.

Ben doesn't know how much time passes as they stare at each other through the darkness, not uttering a single word; it can't be more than a minute, a couple at most, but to him it feels like an eternity, so much so that he can almost hear the fabric of reality stretch and drag past him measuring seconds. Then he hears Joe swallow, which is followed by his sigh, soft and, astonishingly, quite shaky, too. That miniscule part of Ben which is still more or less coherent remarks in surprise that, apparently, despite his poker face attire, Mr Mazzello can also fall the victim of confusion, or panic, or insecurity, or whatever it is which causes that tremble.

"I might be making a damn big mistake now," Joe mutters, as if in confirmation of Ben's thoughts, and leans in closer.

Perhaps it shouldn't be – he's brought this on himself, after all – but it's so startling that Ben freezes and his next breath gets stuck in his throat, and then Joe's lips brush against the corner of his mouth. It's not a kiss, it's barely a touch at all. All the same, it's Joe's lips, dry and warm and soft, parted slightly, right on his skin. Ben feels his breathing, fast and hot, and screws up his eyes tightly against a sudden fit of vertigo.

"We still can stop," Joe murmurs, sounding shaken and anything but assertive.

Perhaps, it would be the best thing to do, the wise thing to do, but by now Ben is past all reasonable thinking. With Joe's mouth this teasingly close to his own, there's no place left for common sense anymore, only for what his body desires most of all.

Minutely, Ben shakes his head and then turns it just a tiny fraction, joining their lips together. It's a close-mouthed, chaste kiss, but it's a kiss all the same, and when Joe's lips move, cautiously pressing a bit more firmly to his, incredibly, half of the accumulated tension seems to drain out of Ben. He'd have never believed that kissing a man, and his close friend at that, could feel this right, this incredibly reassuring, but it does, and the sensation which washes over him is most profound relief. If anything, it turns out he's not alone in this, after all.

And then, suddenly, there's Joe's palm gingerly cupping his cheek, and it's oh so warm and soft and real that a hushed, somewhat choked, moan escapes past Ben's lips. He opens his mouth just a little more and Joe's tongue sneaks into it immediately, sleek and nimble. Ben lets it in, readily. His lower lip smarts – he must have worked on it with his teeth quite well – and the pain makes it all feel awfully real.

The kiss evolves as it progresses, from an innocent press of lips to the open-mouthed, hungry, sloppy thing, and the most amazing quality of it is how extraordinarily contradictory it feels. On the one hand, it's perfectly normal – the world hasn't ended and the earth hasn't opened up and swallowed them both alive, it is what it is, just a kiss; but at the same time the sensation of Joe's day stubble, prickly and scratchy against Ben's skin is utterly novel, and the mixture of the two makes the realisation of what exactly they're doing so sudden and so profound that another wave of weakness washes over him. He's glad he's lying in bed, otherwise his knees might have buckled already.

He still reaches out, as if for physical support, and his hand first slides down over Joe's shoulder, then along his upper arm and around to his back, ending up splayed against his shoulder blades, thus pushing him effectively closer. Joe obeys him willingly enough, pressing himself into Ben and pushing apart his legs with his own until his thigh ends up firmly pressed against Ben's crotch. The latter gasps at this sudden, way too intimate, contact. It feels way too intense for the simple reason – Ben realises this with stupefying surprise – that he's got a hard-on. Ridiculously, he feels so utterly mortified he makes an attempt to move away, his hand relocating back to Joe's upper arm. He isn't pushing him away – he's got no strength for it – but simply squeezes it instead.

"It's all right," Joe mumbles into his mouth in between moist, messy kisses.

"Is it?" Ben chokes out, on the verge of suffocation. He's not feeling like himself; in fact, he's never before felt less like himself than he is now. He doesn't recognise his own voice, it's way too hoarse, way too desperate, almost hysterical.

With a convulsive inhale, Joe pulls back, and Ben can feel his erratic breath against his own face, this time cool against his skin because his lips are all wet. Just a few moments ago he couldn't have imagined he could possibly grow even more terrified but now it turns out there's apparently no limit to the profoundness of his horror. Having Joe move away like this, without a single word of objection, somehow feels even more terrible.

 _Oh, this is turning into a shitshow, isn't it?_ Ben's inner voice asks him, and he screws his eyes shut tightly against it, letting out a moan of despair. _It is, isn't it?_ It was a stupid thing to have let this happen in the first place, and an even more idiotic one to stop like this.

Meanwhile, Joe's hand – the one still resting against Ben's cheek – slides down slowly, nothing but fingertips tracing a featherlight ticklish caress over the side of his throat.

"I'm sorry," Joe murmurs softly. He's out of breath and he sounds dismayed. "Shouldn't've--"

Ben swallows nervously and interrupts him with a violent shake of his head, covering Joe's hand with his own. He squeezes it briefly but tightly. Then, acting impulsively, he pulls it up to his mouth and leaves a sound kiss right in the middle of Joe's palm. He hears the latter draw in a sharp inhale.

"Ben--"

"I'm terrified," he whispers and opens his eyes to lock his gaze with Joe's, again. "I want this and I've never been this terrified in my life," he goes on, producing the longest and the most coherent sentence he's said in the past few hours.

"Me too," Joe says and then frees his hand from Ben's hold, lets it slide to the nape of his neck and beckons him closer.

Ben doesn't resist – he _cannot_ – and ends up with his burning face buried into the crook of his friend's neck, whose skin feels just as hot to the touch. Joe's arms wrap around him, effectively securing him in his embrace, but this time there's nothing desperately sexual about it. Ben hugs him back, tightly, just a tiny bit relieved.

"I think I'm in love with you, mate," Joe murmurs after a while, and the simplicity of his confession sends another thunderbolt through Ben's very core.

"I think I might be, too."

Above his ear, Joe huffs softly. "Huh, in love with yourself? I suspected as mu--"

"Fuck you, _Joseph_ ," Ben hisses, exasperated. Even in a situation like this, this bastard still can't seem to be able to stop his bloody jokes. "You and the fucking joking horse you rode in on into my life," he goes on and huffs, too, because, really, this is all absurd. "I _am_ in love with _you_."

He falls silent, abruptly. Well, this was one hell of a confession and it sounded _furious_. To his incredulity, Joe actually laughs.

"Trying to outdo me here?" he whispers. "All right--"

"Joe, stop. This is not--"

"--I _love_ you more."

"--a contest," Ben finishes lamely. "You're insufferable." Then he shakes his head, as well as his position could allow him, sighs and moves back a little so that he could take a proper look at his friend. "Do you?"

"I do," Joe nods, and, thankfully, there's no trace of that stupid impish grin on his face. He sounds dead serious, and Ben wants to hope it's not yet another one of this troll's idiotic games. It doesn't look like one, but who could possibly know. "And I'm also in love with you, Ben, terrifying as it is. And I _want_ you, too. I missed you like hell these past several months. Didn't know what to do with myself."

He gives Ben a smile, but it's a confused and a rather scared little thing, not his customary million-dollars grin.

"Man, how did we get ourselves into this?" Ben asks and then moves in closer, helplessly, unable to resist this gravitation between them, and buries his face against Joe's neck again.

There's a vein pulsing madly right beneath his lips, in one rhythm with Joe's heart, the steady beat of which Ben can feel against his own chest. Joe's arms secure him in another hug, and to say that it feels wonderful is to say nothing. There's nowhere else he'd rather be right now.

"I don't know," Joe sighs. "You're okay with it? If we spend this night like this?"

His voice is hushed, and in the present circumstances the question sounds like the most intimate thing Ben's ever heard in his entire life. He understands that it can't be, he realises it's most certainly because of the hormonal soup flowing in his bloodstream, that bloody circus of chemicals which cloud his mind and make him feel positively high; he understands it all on some rational level of consciousness, but hey, rationality and being in love rarely go hand in hand.

"Right now, I think I want to spend every bloody night like this," Ben murmurs and relocates his hand to the back of Joe's head, entangling his fingers into his hair for good measure.

It still seems more like some sort of delusion rather than reality, even with the sensations of Joe's hair against his palm and the heat of Joe's body against his own. In fact, those two seem the most delusional of all, if Ben's quite honest with himself.

"I've wanted this for way too long," he says and feels Joe's arms tighten momentarily around him.

"Since when?" Joe asks.

Ben gives shrugging a try but it's not that easy in the position he's in. "I'm not sure I understand it myself. Since sometime during the filming? I think it was already pretty strange between us even back then, but I didn't want to acknowledge it for quite a while. Everyone talked about chemistry, so I went along with it. I think it hit home only when you started this shitshow on Instagram. I mean, when everyone is joking about something, you have to consider the possibility of at least some truth in it, and I realised there was actually more truth than I'd initially bargained for. And I also felt sort of jealous seeing you and Gwil and Rami on that promo-tour you made. I know it's ridiculous, but I couldn't help it. I wanted to be there with you, and I absolutely couldn't go." Ben falls silent for a while and then adds, sounding utterly perplexed even to his own ears, "I'm still not sure you're not having me on."

"I'm not," Joe says without any hesitation whatsoever, which is a relief. "I think I fell for you on the third day of filming, when we were still shooting Live Aid. Just saw you fussing over your drumkit and I was done for good."

This causes yet another flock of goosebumps run all over Ben's body, and it's exhilarating. _Oh boy,_ he thinks, _third day; and here I am, over a year too late_.

"And I think I set off that shitshow, as you put it, solely for the purpose of seeing how you'd react to it, to the mere implication that there could be something… you know… something like this…" Joe sighs. "My father's death played a role, too, because you guys were there for me back then and--" he trails off, and Ben feels something clench inside his chest very tightly. It's like the pain in Joe's voice is somehow transmitted to him, giving him the taste of it, and Ben doesn't like it one bit.

Wishing to soothe it, he presses his lips to the side of Joe's throat and leaves a trail of kisses towards the tender spot behind his ear.

"I'm sorry, Joe," he whispers.

"And I can't thank you enough for it," Joe answers in kind, just as quietly, and then adjusts his position so that he could look at Ben properly.

His hand comes to brush a couple of stray stands of his fair hair out of his face and then it slides down to his cheek. Ben holds his gaze, and this time it's not terrifying at all.

"I love you," Ben says softly, and the warm, gentle smile which lights up Joe's face is precious. It's much more tender than his customary grin.

"I love you too, Benny," Joe replies. "Let's give it another try, huh?"

Then, still with that charming smile on his lips, he leans in to press them to Ben's.

This time, there's no confusion. This time Ben is prepared and anticipating the kiss, and he's doing it consciously. It feels right. It feels glorious. It feels like finally coming home.

And when Joe's hand leaves his cheek and relocates south, finding Ben's crotch and pressing gently but firmly against the still present semi-hardness inside his shorts, Ben does nothing to prevent it. Instead, he bucks his hips towards Joe's hand, and gasps when Joe's fingers half-wrap around him through the thin fabric of his underwear. They stroke him, ever so lightly for the time being but knowingly enough, bringing him to his full length. Then Joe's hand is gone and in one fluid movement the latter ends up on top of Ben, straddling his hips. The blanket is pushed away to the edge of the bed, and then Joe's t-shirt follows it.

Ben can't tear his gaze off him, gorgeous as if his body was made of marble rather then flesh and blood. He licks his lips; Joe bites his own and then helps Ben pull off his t-shirt as well. For a few seconds he remains like that, astride Ben's hips, looking down at him with his mouth half-open, breathing heavily, and Ben can swear he's never before wanted anyone as much as he wants Joe right at this very moment.

 _And he's mine_ , Ben thinks, astounded and exultated. _Even if for this one night, he's finally all mine._

As if reading his thoughts, Joe lets his hand trace a featherlight caress across Ben's chest and down his stomach until it's stopped by the waistband of his boxers. Joe hooks his finger under it but does nothing else for the time being. His eyes meet with Ben's, as if asking him if this is still all right, and Ben nods minutely in consent. Then he pulls in a shaky inhale and closes his eyes, allowing Joe to do the rest.

The next thing he feels is how his shorts are being pulled down his legs, and after a short while, there's the weight of Joe's body on top of his own, and he feels incredibly real, incredibly hot, incredibly masculine, and incredibly hard against him. Ben can't suppress a surprised gasp at the sheer physicality of it.

"That Instagram fanbase would have a sheer heart attack if they knew," Joe whispers into his lips, not stopping the gentle, rocking, fluid motions of his hips as he rubs himself against Ben's erection.

Despite himself, despite how turned on he is, despite the fact that it's hard to do anything else but to respond to those regular thrusts and intensify the friction between their cocks, Ben actually laughs. He can't help himself because this is perhaps the most ridiculous and ill-timed thing that's ever been said during a sexual intercourse.

"Joe, shut up," he gasps, still grinning. "Just shut up for once in a lifetime and… oh god, just go on, keep doing it."

Joe flashes him a grin, this time his trademark million-dollar one, and obeys willingly enough.

*

When Ben wakes up, the first thing he becomes aware of is being thoroughly satisfied with everything. It's just that very basic but nonetheless joyful feeling of being well-rested, having slept exactly as much as needed. There's also warmth everywhere, warmth and comfort. He sighs with satisfaction and stretches, meaning to roll onto his back, and that's when reality finally kicks in. He can't roll anywhere because right behind him, spooning him, there's Joe. The realisation of what they did – that they really finally did end up in one bed, after all – is like a very sobering slap in the face. His heart leaps to his throat in the blink of an eye, and for a couple of heartbeats Ben feels utterly dumb-founded. Then he pulls himself together, collects all his courage and dares to turn his head enough so that he could see his friend. Or is Joe still his friend?

Well, it's already a good sign that he is here, isn't it? Ben tells himself. That he's not waking up alone left with the bitter aftertaste of the feeling of shame and guilt and god knows what else.

Joe gives him a vivacious grin and only now does Ben notice a hand resting against his stomach. The said hand gives it a ticklish caress and relocates to his bare hip.

"Has anyone ever told you that you look adorable while sleeping?" he asks. "I was provoked to snap a pic and upload it on Instagram, so that they would finally lose it completely."

Ben is so stunned by it all, by Joe's complacent smile, by his proximity, by how unspeakably normal it feels to have his hand stroking his hip, by being in one bed with him, naked, warm and comfortable, that for the time being he lets the _'adorable'_ bit slip unnoticed.

"They are going to lose it completely anyway," he says, voice still hoarse from sleep. "I mean, if we--" he suddenly trails off.

They haven't discussed any _if's_ yet, have they? Not knowing how to continue, Ben keeps confused silence.

"If we what?" Joe asks softly, as if prodding him, nudging him into saying it.

Ben's feeling of satisfaction turns into one of dread in a matter of a fraction of a second and settles with a leaden weight in his stomach. If they _what_ , really?

Instead of answering Joe's question, he asks his own.

"What are we gonna do about… _this_?"

"Depends on what either of us wants to do, I guess?"

"So what about you, Joe? What do you want?" Ben asks and closes his eyes because Joe's hand has progressed from his hip to his lower stomach to start drawing little ticklish lines even further south. He reckons it goes well enough for an answer, but Joe formulates it in words all the same.

"I'd give us a try," he murmurs. "You know, mornings after are normally indicative of the previous night's mistakes, and this one feels anything but a mistake. To me, at least. I'd do it all over again, given a chance. And I meant every word I said last night, too."

With his eyes still closed, Ben grins. He can't help it – he's feeling relieved, and grateful, and lucky. And very much in love. And now slightly turned on, as well.

" _Us_ sounds good," he whispers, smirks to himself, and then turns in Joe's arms to kiss him a proper good morning.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *One Year Of Love by Queen

**Author's Note:**

> Well, I don't have much to say in my defense. This just happened. I didn't plan it, I didn't want to write it, but those two insolently stomped in, hijacked my imagination, and well, this is the outcome. Inspired by Queen, Bohemian Rhapsody film, and all those posts on Instagram I unintentionally stumbled upon *shrugs*
> 
> And I guess since it's an RPF, I need to give a disclaimer? Work of fiction, none of this has ever taken place. As far as I know of, anyway XD


End file.
